Old and New
by Benjamin Bradt
Summary: At the height of the Second Fire Bringer War, Lady Chris is cut off from her allies. Now, on the run from Harmonian soldiers and the Masked Bishop, can her new allies help her escape with her life?
1. Silver Runs Red

Steel rang on steel in an endless symphony, the reverberations of poleax against sword made her arm ache, but the grim determination in her eyes showed nothing of weakness. She shrieked another war cry, her throat raw from so many, as she pushed hard; the haft of the poleax snapped, sending a shocked expression across the Harmonian soldier's face as his last defense disappeared. He swung the impotent stick at her, but she ducked and spun, her sword coming back red as it cleanly bisected the soldier's waist. Her steel gray eyes glared down at the broken man as he died, his blood soaking into the scorched earth, his regal Harmonian army ruined. Somewhere, beneath the shell shock and weariness, the beauty of the artisan crafted plate mail was impressive; Harmonian armor was artfully done in chaste white and regal blues, something tasteful made from oppression and hate, but now it was ruined. The silver plates were dented and splashed with mud, the whites stained with sweat and gore, but it had to be done; the hundred Harmonian soldiers who lay dead at her feet were testament to the fury of The Silver Maiden, who shined like the promise of hope amidst the death, her flawless silver armor aglow like the sun itself. The windspun armor she wore was immaculate and imposing, retaining the slightest touch of femininity, right down to the regal crimson and gold skirting that fluttered gracefully beneath her gleaming breastplate. She was as the Zexen goddess made flesh, with her heavenly face set in determination.

She wiped her trusty sword, Ervich, across a dead general's blue coat. She brought it up again, pointing it at the next legion of soldiers. "I am Chris Lightfellow, Captain of the Mighty Six Zexen Knights. I promise all of Harmonia two things; leave now and live, or raise your weapon and die like those before you." Her eyes were steadfast and strong, her sword gleaming and sharp. Her ivory face was beautiful, free of even the slightest drop of sweat, and her silver hair remained braided and drawn up in the regal style of all noble women, save a few strands that hung down on her face. She was beautiful, she was fierce, and she would not back down.

The front row of soldiers stepped back, the faintest tremor running through their rigid stance. They had just watched one woman cut down two battalions of armored men, receiving not a scrape or bruise to show. The first thirty had been shredded by the awesome power of the True Water Rune, whose power had eviscerated them with diamond-like blades of ice, freezing them into a most beautiful mock-up of death. The remaining fifty had surged forth, trampling their own dead, only to be laid to rest by the lightning swift sword of The Silver-Haired Demon. Each thrust, she parried, each swing she repelled; each warrior bore down upon her with his own terrible fury, only to be dispatched, unsatisfied.

The general, however, held no such merit of bravery. He raised a hand, "Fall back! This devil woman has drunk enough Harmonian blood for a day!" The words gave Chris a great sense of relief; after watching the Karayan forces fall back to conserve their losses, the battle had become one of running. She had stayed back to make sure that the Zexen marshals could get free, ending up pinned between forces; the rune's power gave her an edge, but she was swiftly tiring, as every warrior does.

As the soldiers retreated, Chris became aware of a figure approaching from within the receding Harmonian forces; a soldier was approaching her, a proud smirk on his face. "You fought well; I see how you earned your nickname as the Goddess of Death." He grinned, a tooth-filled smile, lacking any true humor, "I don't suppose you'd consider dueling me?"

Tired of fighting, but too aware of what a sign of weakness her refusal would be, she readied her sword. "I would hope you find more value in your life than that; the illusion of glory at the end of a sword should be dispelled well into your youth."

"I have no illusions of glory," the soldier smiled and drew a pair of narrow blades from his hips, "I've been waiting for this opportunity since I first started this stupid war!" The soldier lunged in and swung his swords down, "I lust for blood and battle!"

Chris brought her sword up to parry the easy strike; the strength behind it caught her off guard, however, and the flat of her own blade clashed against the pauldron of her armor. The force made her drop to one knee, allowing his blades to slide off of her guard. "You're strong," Chris rose from her crouch and lashed her blade out, snapping a button off of his collar, "But strength without technique is useless."

The soldier grinned, "Oh, I have much technique, Lady Chris." He lashed out with his swords, "I just wanted to see how you'd hold up against a fraction of my strength. You are a woman, after all."

Chris parried the blades with relative ease, lunging a counter attack that slashed the man's armor open. "Trying to make me angry is as useless as your lack of technique; only a novice lets anger cloud his judgment in battle, and only a coward relies on psychological warfare in a duel." As the soldier's armored coat fell open, she caught a glimpse of jet black leather, trimmed in white. She stepped back, gritting her teeth. "I know that dress . . . you're no Harmonian soldier!"

The white armor began to ripple and dissolve, revealing a coat as dark as murderous intent, with white at the base. The narrow swords were held in black gloved hands, and the man's face was hidden by the brim of a black fedora hat. He tipped it up, exposing a handsome face, twisted with a sadistic grin. Chris narrowed her eyes as she glared into the differently colored orbs, "Yuber!"

The demon swordsman bowed, "So honored you remember me, Lady Chris." He struck with the swords in tandem, toying with her. "I had hoped to get you all to myself at some point during this war, to see how much of the Silver Maiden was true, and how much was wartime glorification."

Chris smiled ferociously, "The glorified heroism and idolatry, I could do without." She parried his attacks with ease, "But the skill with the sword, and my willingness to fight for my cause," she slashed across his arm, making him hiss as his blood soaked the sleeve. "That is something I will lay claim to."

The black garbed swordsman snarled like a beast as he attacked her, the narrow swords clashing again and again against Ervich, but Chris was relentless; every attack she parried, every opening she exploited, until Yuber's coat was blood soaked from the many light wounds she had inflicted on him. "Enough horseplay!" The demon's voice darkened as he tapped into the rune on his left hand, conjuring up dark storm clouds, "Let's see how cocky you are when I'm through with you! **Thunder Storm**!"

"**Heavenly Drops**!" Chris threw her hand up, conjuring a massive surge of power from the True Water Rune, and as the two spells clashed a font of steam exploded outward, veiling the entire battlefield in a thick fog.

Yuber growled and scoured the haze, "Hiding in the mist? I'm starting to lose respect for you, Silver Maiden!"

"Says one who conjures monsters and illusions to fight for him." Yuber whirled about, trying to key in on her location, but she was nowhere to be seen. "I think you are a man who has no moral high ground to preach from." Chris appeared before Yuber, Ervich slashing downward and cleaving deeply into his arm, and just as quickly she disappeared into the mists again.

Cursing loudly as he clamped his wounded arm, Yuber scanned the haze for her again. "I take back what I said; using the mist to make you almost invisible, thanks to that silver armor and hair, you blend almost seamlessly into the fog. Your cunning almost matches my own; together, we could overthrow the Flame Champion and the Masked Bishop both, and claim the runes for ourselves."

Chris laughed haughtily, "Now I know you're desperate, appealing to a sense of vanity that isn't there." Yuber let another lightning spell fly, illuminating an empty bank of mist. Chris' voice was as soft as the whisper of grass in the wind as she drew her blade, "You missed me . . . **Phoenix Rune**!" Yuber swung his sword, but Chris was faster, her arm becoming a blur as she struck again and again, Ervich's blade running red as it repeatedly slashed into the demon swordsman's body. With a pained grunt, Yuber fell to his knees, and Chris laid the flat of her sword on his shoulder, "I should kill you right now, but I'm not so heartless as you. I give you one chance to yield."

"You're right . . . you're not me." Yuber smiled at Chris and grabbed her sword by the blade, "I would have expected this." He rose to his feet, smiling, and as Chris watched, the blood began to seep back into the numerous cuts on his body. The Silver Maiden struggled against his iron grip, but try as she could, the sword refused to move. Fully healed, he released her blade and stepped back, thrusting his palm toward her. "I also would have expected this . . . **Eightfold Rune**!"

"Dammit!" Chris cursed herself for falling into his trap, backing away as the multiple images began to appear. One lunged and attacked, his vicious strikes ringing against her sword as she struggled to keep up. She didn't see the second until he was upon her, his swords slamming into the back of her armor with enough force to stagger her, the blades failing to penetrate the durable armor she wore. She slashed at one, driving him back, as she struck at the second. Steel clashed on steel, but in the end, neither could score a counting blow.

Standing back and watching the display with a bemused grin, Yuber snickered at her. "What's wrong, Silver Maiden? You look tired!"

"Only tired of wasting my time with your parlor tricks," she scoffed. Chris feinted a blow and ducked in, avoiding the clone's strike as she buried the four foot blade in its chest. The false Yuber staggered backwards and fell to the ground, dissolving into smoke; this distracted the other clone for an instant, long enough for the knight to feed him a length of steel, cleanly severing his head. She turned and pointed the gore-stained blade at her foe, "Shall we make it a triple?"

In response, Yuber removed his gloves, allowing them to fall to the blood-stained earth. "You're undeniably good, I admit, and there is nothing more desirable than a powerful woman."

Chris eyed him cautiously, "You've been trying to kill me for weeks, don't tell me you've decided to try your hand at bedding me."

Yuber licked his eyeteeth, "The thought had crossed my mind, however, your indomitable will sours the mood." He exposed the runes he wore on each hand, "The Rune of Eight Demons, and the Eightfold Rune; one gives me the power to conjure clones, the other amplifies my powers. Neither of which gives me the power to crush your spirit."

"Make your point Yuber," Chris shouted, growing bold. "My sword thirsts for more blood."

"The one thing that whiner Luc has taught me is that power alone is great," he brought his hands together, "But power is greater when combined." A blinding light erupted from Yuber's hands, blinding Chris, the golden radiance making her armor gleam like the morning sun. The radiance died, and as she opened her eyes, her heart sank. Yuber was not alone; hundreds, thousands of him surrounded her, their swords drawn and mouths curled into hateful grins. "I have seen you fight three of me, now fight three thousand," the horde spoke in unison, the many voices erupting into maniacal laughter.

Chris' hand trembled, the sword almost slipping through her fingers. Facing Yuber had been trial enough, but now to face a legion of him seemed . . . impossible.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to lay down and surrender.

She wanted to quit.

She screamed like a howling demon and lashed out, her sword cleaving through the first one's skull. Even Yuber was struck by the raw fury of the attack, giving her license to go on. Her sword flashed again and again, blood spraying across her perfect face as she killed, and killed, and killed. The horde attacked, but her animosity had demoralized them, and their posture was hedged with fear.

Chris Lightfellow was beyond fear.

One of them managed a lucky strike, his narrow blade slipping between armor plates on her side. Blood rushed down the blade, staining her illustrious silver armor. She whirled with a cry and buried her sword in his eye, kicking him aside and pushing forward to kill again.

Chris Lightfellow was beyond pain.

The blows fell harder and harder, blood rained down on her armor; some was her own, most was theirs. She fought on until she could not walk, falling to her knees. One thought this meant she was done and approached to behead her. She split him from groin to sternum. The forces pulled back, their master emerging toward the kneeling woman. Her shining hair was unkempt and matted with blood, her armor tattered, her flesh marred with cuts. There, on the verge of death, he desired her more than ever. "Surrender to me," Yuber smiled, "Reign at my side as the world dies, and welcome the death of humanity.

Blackness swept over them all, so thick it seemed to muffle the soldier's cries of confusion. Next, the screams began; cry after cry of men ripped asunder, agony upon agony, from all around Yuber. He whirled and watched, desperate to see what horrors might be within the preternatural umbra, but nothing was seen.

The darkness began to slowly fade, and as it receded, Yuber stared with shock at the slaughtered legion around him; every clone lay broken and dead, some slit by sword, others crushed by staff. Everyone was dead but himself, the woman, and one other; standing before the kneeling form of The Silver Maiden, black hair rustling from beneath his green bandanna, his amber eyes flaring with icy amusement as he nodded toward the swordsman, "Hello, Yuber."

Yuber paled and stepped back, true fear in his face, "No, it can't be . . . not you!"

The man walked forward, his Toran-styled dress fluttering in the breeze, the dragon-headed fighting staff glinting in the light. "He is looking for you, Yuber. He seeks to resolve the complexities of your shared relationship."

The swordsman's eyes strayed to the ungloved right hand of his opponent, knowing to well what horrors lie there. "So what now, have you become his lackey? Does the mighty warrior now pander at the heels of 'he who chases death'?"

The man laughed, "No, Yuber, he follows me, as he has before. We've followed tales of you and your murdering sprees across Toran and Highland, through Harmonia and into the heart of The Grasslands."

"To what end?" Yuber tightened his grip on the swords, "Would you feed me to the rune, as you have so many before?"

"Of course not," he slipped the glove back on his hand, "He will deal with you, not I."

"You are but a shadow of me, Yuber," a voice echoed from around the swordsman, "A nightmare clinging to the fringes of a waking mind; a spec of gangrenous flesh on the world." A black armored figure appeared before Yuber, a large sword clutched in black gauntleted hands, "and I will cut you out of it."

Yuber screamed wordlessly as the blade descended, throwing his hands up to try and ward off the blow, but after a few tense seconds of nothing, he opened his eyes to discover that he was unharmed. He lowered his guard and found the other man watching him, smiling, "What will you do, Yuber?"

The swordsman vanished in a flash of light, leaving no trace of his presence. Smiling, the bandanna wearing man turned and helped Chris lay on her back, the woman's breath coming in ragged gasps. "Y . . . you . . . drove him . . . away?"

"Yes, Lady Chris, he's gone" he smiled as he began unclasping her armor, "Now relax and lie still; I'll tend your wounds, and we'll see about getting you back to your men."

"I d-" She winced as he shifted her body, "I don't . . . remember . . . your face . . . Are you . . . one of . . . the Tinto merc . . . mercenaries . . .?"

"No ma'am," he set about binding the cuts she had across her chest and ribs, "I'm just a passerby."

"No . . . passer . . . by . . . fights . . . like that." She grabbed his arm, "Who . . . are you?"

"My name is Tir, Lady Chris," he gently laid her head back on the ground, "Now rest, you need to regains trength."

Too tired to argue, she closed her eyes. 'You'll . . . be here w- . . . when I . . . wake up?"

"Of course, Miss Lightfellow, I swear I won't leave your side until you are returned to your friends." She sighed her last breath, dying in his arms, and he chuckled and laid his right hand over her heart, feeling it grow still. The small black dog that sat across from him cocked its head, questioning him. In response he channeled a fraction of magic into her, restarting her heart. "No, my friend, it's not her time yet, regardless of what the spirits tell you." He brushed a lock of silver hair from her beautiful face, "I don't care what the spirits tell you, I say she has more to do, and do she must."

NOTES: Special thanks to **Silverone** for beta-reading this little tidbit crossover. Depending on what sort of feedback and attention the story gets, I might expand it into a much longer chronicle. As anyone who has ever played a Suikoden game knows, the first loss is only an illusion, drawing up to an epic clash of titans.


	2. The characters we must play

_. . . Ervich stained red . . ._

_. . . Yuber smiling in heat . . . _

_. . . The stranger's empty amber eyes . . ._

_. . . So weak . . . so cold . . . why do I feel so . . . tired . . ._

_. . . I think I'm dying . . ._

_. . . father . . ._

Chris sat up with a sharp cry of terror, her hand clutching at her chest as a phantom pain melted into the forgotten memories of sleep, her immaculate fingernails cutting little bloody crescent moons into her naked body where her fingers dug into her moonlike flesh. After a minute of breathless confusion, she finally exhaled the ragged breath she'd been unintentionally holding, extracting her nails from the wounds on her chest. She closed her weary eyes and fell back onto the bed, covers forgotten, the brilliant sunlight scalding her eyes. She opened one halfway, glaring in annoyance at the blood that dripped from her fingertips, absently wondering if she would have a scar.

Scars. She bolted up again, the flood of memories from the fight with Yuber literally drowning her mind as she began the fevered check of every scar or cut. Her body was almost clothed in soiled bandages, the vibrant crimson dulled down to a rust-colored brown as the blood had dried and scabbed over. Despite the numerous wounds, her movements were remarkably free of pain, save the stiffness, her body sluggish as if she had awoken from a long sleep. She looked around the strange surroundings, her weapons and armor nowhere to be seen. Beneath the bandages on her palms, the power of her two runes thrummed subtly, like twin heartbeats.

The door opened and a doctor came in, her eyes away from Chris and toward the cart of supplies she was towing in. The outfit she wore, simple white blouse and long dress, bore the universally recognized symbol of a red cross, signifying her position as a healer, not a soldier. Her black hair was cut at her jaw line, ornate metal and wood beads braided into it so that they clicked together as she moved, like tiny wind chimes. Her skin was a deep olive tan in color, a few tattoo markings creeping up from the high collar of her top as she turned, her brown eyes widening as she saw Chris sitting up in bed. She dropped the linens that had been carried in her right arm, the other firmly gripping the handle of the rolling cart. "Oh my goodness, you are awake!" Her musical voice carried a thick accent that The Silver Maiden was not familiar with, and as she approached, her eyes darkened at the sight of blood on Chris bindings. "You've gone and cut yourself. I told Aluce not to manicure your nails."

"Who are you?" Chris scooted away from the woman as she sat on the edge of the bed, "Are you a Harmonian doctor? Am I in some prison infirmary?"

"No, not in the least." She laid a hand over Chris', "You may rest easy, Lady Wintercrown, you are safely beyond Harmonian reach. You are in Selacey."

Chris' eyes widened, "Selacey . . . as in the capital of Camaro, in The Northern Outlands?"

"Yes, your bodyguards arrived with y0u under the cover of the new moon. You were in an ill state when you came in, but Parna is one of the most skilled doctors in Selacey." The woman laid a hand on her own chest, "Parna has made sure that your wounds will not scar; such a thing would be most unfortunate, the lady is very pretty." Parna bowed her head as she blushed, "If you will allow, Parna will tend to your new injury as well."

Chris opened her mouth to speak, but Parna had already leaned forward and pressed her hand against the bloody fingernail cuts on Chris chest. The knight shuddered as a warm tingle trickled through her, an almost visible golden luminescence rippling under her skin. Chris gasped at the pleasurable sensation of the magic sliding through her body, leaning against Parna as her head began to swim, her breathing becoming slightly ragged. Parna moved nearer to Chris, enjoying the rapturous look that adorned her mysterious patient's face. "Parna's Circe Rune does more than just heal wounds," she moved her lips a mere breath from Chris' trembling mouth, "It opens the mind and soul to insight . . . and pleasure. Parna wishes t-"

The room door opened with a creak, the wooden frame rapping against a nearby table with a sharp sound, disrupting the scene. Parna's focus shifted, breaking her connection with Chris as she scooted back and turned to face the incoming person. Chris flopped backward onto the bed, shaking slightly, the euphoria of Parna's rune starting to dissipate. "This room is occupied," Parna snapped, her own breath shuddering in fitful disappointment, "Patient is very ill."

"I know, Miss Parna," the amber-eyed stranger entered slowly, "I came in because I heard that she was awake." He turned himself enough that he could see Parna with one eye, but Lady Chris' mostly disrobed form was not in his sight.

"Ah, Lord Tir, I did not recognize you at first." Parna bowed her head, trying to hide the shame burning in her cheeks. "If you will permit me to finish tending her wounds, I will prepare Lady Wintercrown for your audience."

"I-it's okay," Chris stammered as she wrapped the bed sheet around herself, "I need to speak with my bodyguard regarding the next leg of our journey."

The healer balked at her words, "Lady Wintercrown cannot depart in her condition! She will require another week's worth of rest at the least!"

"That is not an option." Tir opened the door and gestured for Parna to leave, "You will excuse us, Doctor, my lady wishes to speak. In private."

Parna gritted her teeth furiously, but said nothing, departing at Tir's direction. He closed the door quietly and turned his back fully to the knight, "I am pleased to see you are well, Lady Chris."

"I cannot believe you took me to Camaro!" Chris' voice was an exaggerated whisper, "Of all the reckless, inexcusable things! I have men to command! A war to be fought!"

"You're lucky to be alive, my lady." Tir's voice was stoic, "How much do you remember?"

"Scattered bits, mostly about the fight with Yuber." She searched the room, "Where did they put my armor?"

"You really don't remember much, do you? Your armor was mostly destroyed, Lady Chris. You had bled quite a bit, enough to ruin the fabrics, and the blows form their swords had hammered your armor nearly closed. We had to cut it off you, in order to make sure you were properly treated. You almost died," he lied.

Chris shook her head, "So what, am I expected to wage war in the nude?"

Tir put a hand over his eyes as he turned, tossing a wrapped bundle onto the bed. "We acquired some clothes for you in town, while you were resting."

"Thank you," Chris chuckled as she got dressed, "So shy. Surely you've seen a woman less than fully robed before, strapping young soldier like you. Last I'd heard, the troops were getting enough social company to make Nash jealous."

"Lady Chris, I am not a member of the Budehuc Army regulars. I am not allied with any of the mercenary groups currently under your army flag. As I stated before, I am just a passerby." Tir's voice trembled a little with embarrassment, his cheeks burning red. "As for my exposure to women in an informal st . . . my exposure to women is my business."

"So, who are you then? No man in his right mind walks alone into a bloody warzone."

"I had my companion with me." Tir's voice rose in defense.

"Ah yes, the dog," Chris snickered, "I can't wait to see what style of clothing he selected for me. I prefer studs on leather to a chain collar."

Tir sighed in irritation, "I was afraid it would come to this; Gremio, come in please."

The door opened, and a second man entered. Dressed in dark blue travelling clothes and a green cloak wrapped around his shoulders, Chris was immediately struck by how handsome the man was. He had long, flaxen blonde hair that hung down at least to the small of his back, and his body was hard and toned, that of a seasoned warrior who worked to maintain peak physical form. The only sign of age in his face were faint laugh lines at the corner of sharp green eyes that made her heart skip, his otherwise perfect face marred only by an x-shaped scar on the lower left side of his jaw. "Yes, master?"

"She's completely in the rune's thrall, please do a cleansing."

"Of course, master." Gremio walked forward and took Chris' hands into his own, making her giggle like a nervous teenager. "Just relax, lady Chris, this will only take a second." He closed his eyes as he summoned up the rune's power, "**Guardian Ear-mmph!**"

The phrase was interrupted as Chris leaned forward, planting an open-mouth kiss on Gremio. The warrior's eyes flew open in surprise as the spell surged forth, sending a dusty golden radiance through the room as the cleansing magic purged everyone present of any sort of external influence. Chris hung on the kiss for a few seconds before slowly drawing back, her perfect lips easing closed as her eyes slowly opened, revealing a very confused Gremio.

Realizing she had just tongue-kissed a complete stranger, Chris' cheeks flared bright red as she reeled back, knocking him to the floor with a slap to the face. She immediately relented, putting one hand to her mouth as she extended the second to help him up. "Oh my God, I am so sorry, I don't know what came over me!"

"It's alright, Lady Chris," the warrior climbed to his feet without her assistance, "I was just as surprised as you were." He gave her a genuine smile as he gingerly brushed his fingertips across the stinging red handprint on his cheek.

"Parna's rune heals injuries, but causes those healed to become intoxicated by the magic, performing in erratic, impulsive ways. You cannot be held accountable for your actions in such an altered state, Lady Chris." The younger man smiled reassuringly at the Silver Maiden, hoping she would not fear that they might view her differently over the mistake. "This is my dearest and most trusted friend, Gremio." Tir indicated the blond warrior, "He has watched over me since I was a babe, and has proven himself time and again, a formidable opponent with the axe." The warrior bowed politely, one hand over his heart. "Gremio has already been briefed of your situation."

"My . . . situation?" Fully dressed, Chris had set about strapping Ervich onto her side. The clothing selected for her was of a travelling nature; breeches and knee-high boots, a long sleeved shirt and mailed coat, thick gloves, and a green ribbon to tie her hair back with. "Pardon me for asking . . . but what exactly IS my situation?"

"About forty-five percent of the Harmonian regular army is combing the Grasslands, searching for you. Members of the Harmonian Southern Frontier Defense Corps and the Howling Voice Guild have been deployed to Zexen, Higheast, The Island Nations, and The Northern Outlands. There are also untold numbers of freelance mercenaries after you, as a five million potch bounty has been placed on your head in the name of the High Priest Hikusaak." Tir crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the room, staring blankly out the window as he droned on.

Chris' heart sank, "That's certainly going to make travelling back to Budehuc less than easy."

". . . There is more," Gremio's eyes were sullen, "As your possessing a true rune has become public knowledge, the nation of Zelant has deployed The Crystal Elites, who are intent on collecting you and your rune, and returning with you to Zelant as a trophy slave for King Jalat's harem, cementing their alliance with the New Armes Kingdom."

"Not to mention the continued appearances of The Destroyers, who have collected a small army of mercenaries from Higheast and Nagarea." While he spoke, Tir made a casual survey of the room's exits, checking for any lingering passerby or listening member of the Hospice's staff. "Essentially, we are being brooked from all sides by people who have designs on your future alignment and residence. You're one of the most wanted people in the known world."

Chris swore and kicked over a chair, shocking Gremio and Tir with the sudden outburst. "This cannot be happening to me, Hikusaak be DAMNED! I have places to be! Men to lead! I cannot spend the remainder of my life, running around the Northern Outlands with a pair of intentionally obtuse vagabonds and their bloody dog!"

"Restrain yourself, madam!" Gremio rose angrily, stepping towards Chris. "My master has n-"

"Be at ease, Gremio." Tir stopped his friend from advancing, "Let me handle this." He grabbed Chris' shoulder, "Lady Cryssandora Abernathe Wintercrown, you need to restrain yourself now!" Tir clapped his hands loudly, simulating the sound as if he had struck her across the cheek. She blinked in surprise, stopping, "Realize your enemies are looming, and you are out of your element; my men and I have done nothing but put our lives forward to ensure your safety, and will continue to do so, regardless of your veiled insults and flagrant disrespects. We may not be of the same circles, but our survival is now linked, and I am determined to see us all walk out of here and to our desired places, ALIVE. But in order to do so, you will have to start doing certain things NOW. One, stop screaming about your men and your mission; it is imperative that we keep your identity secret, Lady WinterCROWN, to prevent those seeking you from discovering your trail. Second," he thumped a fist against his chest, standing so that only Chris could see the two fingers he pointed at the curtained window, "You need to stop your gallivanting away. No more of this, sneaking out of windows under the cover of darkness, running off into the sunset in search of a black-haired knight errant. You need to stay with me, if we're going to stay alive; and three," he shook his head from side to side, "Stop carrying your father's sword around with you; nobody believes you're some super skilled swordsman, and pretending to be something you're not will get you killed. You're the sixteen year old, spoiled daughter of a rich man, who can hardly swing her sword to cut down bushes. Stop acting like a warrior, and let the real fighters wield the weapons."

Tir turned toward Gremio, "Get her a meal, and watch the door. I don't want anyone in here. I'll come relieve you later tonight."

As Tir and Gremio walked out of the room, Chris stomped one booted foot. "I'm 21 you know!"


	3. He WHo Follows Death

The rest of the day was spent in private reflection, deciphering the hidden meaning in Tir's staged outburst; from time to time, Parna would return and entreat Gremio for entrance, but he would dutifully turn her away. Following Parna's eighth or ninth attempt, she cracked the door and whispered 'Thank you' to the staunch guardian; Gremio turned his head enough that she could see his smile, then he patted her hand and resumed his vigil. Something about the way he smiled, the calming power of his aura, made her feel safe around him; it made her miss the other knights, the closest thing she had to a family anymore. She couldn't help but wonder how well they were handling her absence; Salome was a competent leader and would make sure they were kept in line, but they all seemed to become . . . listless, for lack of a better word, in her absence.

As night fell over the relatively peaceful town of Selacey, the normal city sounds softened up to the still din of foreign animal noises and otherwise unbroken silence. Chris could not help but notice that, as she was climbing out of the hospice window, without the constant sound of armored boots clanking against cobblestone streets a city could be surprisingly quiet at night. She also noticed that the clothes Tir had selected for her fit as if tailored to her precise measurements. _I wonder if he measured me while I was unconscious_ . . . the thought of him or his friend taking an in-seam measurement made her pale cheeks flare in a bright blush, shaking her enough that her hand slipped and she nearly fell the two stories to the ground. Swearing softly, she righted herself, climbing down to the hard-packed dirt street.

"Focus, Chris," she slapped her cheeks lightly, "No time for that sort of thinking; Tir gave me directions and I need to get them right: Lady Wintercrown, escape under nightfall and travel west, look for a black-haired knight errant . . . whatever the hell that means. At least two people were outside the window, possibly listening in on our conversation," She kicked herself for not realizing earlier how many times she'd ranted on about things that could have ruined the false identity Tir had constructed. "Keep your sword with you, but try to look inexperienced with it; makes sense, if they think I can't use a sword properly, they're more likely to do something stupid." Drawing the hood of her cloak up around her shoulders, Chris started walking toward the west, unaware of the being who silently trailed her from the shadows.

A shrill whistle caught her off guard and she spun, eyes settling on a pair of men outside of the cantina. "Hey pretty lady," one of them leered at her, "Come on over and I'll buy you a drink."

She turned and continued walking, ignoring him as he shouted after her; as much as men like that made her miss the other knights, she couldn't help but be slightly grateful at their absence. Borus, bless his heart, would have had them on their bellies and begging for forgiveness for just looking at her. _Not the most subtle of escape events,_ she chuckled inwardly. She continued out toward the western gates of Selacey, unaware of the presence sneaking up behind her.

* * *

"Goodnight, Lady Wintercrown." Tir gently closed the door behind him, approaching the nurse's desk and taking the cup of coffee that the orderly extended. "Thank you, I'm more tired than I thought."

"It's alright," the young man smiled and sat back, "I have never been a big fan of night watches myself."

"So why do it? It's my understanding that in Selacey, men are higher on the social ladder than women. Couldn't you just . . . _order_ one of the others to take the shift for you? Parna seems eager to please."

"Parna is not a citizen of Selacey."

Tir crooked an eyebrow, "Oh really?"

"She is a visiting medical student from another country."

Tir choked on his coffee, "Damn that's bitter! Huh . . . where is she anyway?"

"Parna requested the night off. Her brother Apshai is visiting from Zelant." The young orderly handed Tir a towel, "I admit, the coffee they give us to make is brutally unripe. They sell better beans at the café next door, but the head doctor doesn't believe in the expenditure."

"Well I do," Tir chuckled, "Do you mind keeping an eye on the door while I go out for a minute?"

"Of course not, Lord Tir, go right ahead." The man winked at the bodyguard, who took off at a steady jog.

As Chris walked out of the city, passing under the shade of a cluster of palm trees, a demure chuckle caught her ears. As she turned, she saw Parna approaching her from the copse of the oasis. "Good evening my lady, Parna is most surprised to see you out here."

Remembering what Tir had said, Chris feigned an irritated scowl as she looked back at the city. "Stupid bodyguard, thinks he can order me around like that. I'll go wherever I want. Don't try to stop me, Parna."

"Parna would never dream of denying my lady anything she desired." The nurse smiled wickedly, licking an eyetooth as she approached, "Parna actually thinks she has an easy solution to your problem."

"No, that's okay," Chris waved her off, "I appreciate the offer, but I don't want you to get into trouble."

Parna slipped a hand along Chris' arm, and as her rune flared to life, the effect was instantaneous. The silver maiden moaned in a half drunken, half pleasurable sound as she staggered, slumping against Parna's shoulder. "Parna must insist."

Chuckling in a deep, baritone voice, a man emerged from the shadows. Although his skin was as dark as Parna's, his clothes were very different. While the nurse was dressed in the gauzy fashion of the Camaro desert folk, he wore a dark gray uniform that immediately identified him as a soldier. "You're right, sister, I can see why you are so attracted to her."

Parna's eyes never left the woman slumped against her, trailing a teasing finger along her neck that made the silver-haired woman moan louder in her embrace. "Parna does not know if she can agree to part with her, Apshai. Parna thinks that she might keep this one for herself." As if agreeing, Chris nodded her head drunkenly, burying her face in the woman's neck as she shuddered.

"That would be risky," Apshai's face turned from amused to grim, "The king has already promised her to the ruler of the New Armes Kingdom."

"It is something we will discuss once we reunite with the rest of our allies." Parna moved Chris enough to permit her to kiss the warrior's neck. "Parna will thrall the lady until then." Moving along her neck and up her jawbone, Parna moved to kiss Chris on the lips, when a sudden surge of fire erupted between them. Shrieking in surprise, Parna leapt away, fixing her hateful eyes on the blonde warrior who had just turned his rage rune upon her. "Who? The bodyguard, eh? Parna hopes that you have enjoyed a full life, because it ends now!"

"**Silver Spike!**" Parna, with a wave of her hand, sent a shimmering lance of white radiance at Gremio.

The green cloaked warrior side-stepped it with ease, charging in with his axe clutched tightly in both hands. He dodged another projectile, bringing his axe up to strike, but as it descended toward the nurse's face, a black sword parried it. Gremio's eyes flickered from Parna's terrified expression, to the cocky grin on her brother's face. "You are very good, sir, but let us see how good you are against one who is trained for battle. I am Apshai, the Dark Blade."

"Then I won't hold anything back," the blonde haired man smirked and leapt away, shifting his attack to a more defensive stance. Apshai screamed a war cry as he charged, hammering Gremio with a series of heavy blows.

As Parna turned her eyes toward Chris, she instead found the stern figure of Tir standing between her and the prize. She gritted her teeth, "You are a fool for getting in Parna's way!"

Tir spun the dragon-headed staff in his hands as if it weighed nothing, "I get that a lot."

Parna thrust her hand forward, a shimmering white radiance flaring from the palm. "I am going to kill you in my most sacred of ways, by destroying your mind with the power of my Circe Rune. Prepare to witness why I am called Parna of the Crystal Elites, the White Succubus." Waves of scintillating light surged from her, washing over Tir with such force that he had to dig his feet into the sand to keep from getting knocked back. Parna observed his struggle with a smirk, "You are very strong, it will please me to feed your happiness to the dark demon of my rune."

As Parna watched, her smile faltered as a dark light began to erode the white light she threw upon Tir. Tendrils of inky darkness crept up from his right hand, staining the power she hurled at him, until he was eclipsed in sepulchral shadows. "I have to admit, your power is impressive," Tir brought his hand up, opening it to reveal a surging blackness in his grip, "But it pales in comparison to my own demons." The darkness snaked up the white tendril that connected Parna to Tir, and as it surged over her, a terrible sense of dread gripped her. Terrible loneliness, horrifying fear and pain, began to permeate the fiber of her being. The darkness forced its way into her mouth and nose, smothering her eyes and choking her throat. Death loomed over the woman, and as the horrific power touched her soul, she began to scream.

The cry sent a shock of pain through Apshai, and as he watched the blackness swarm his sister, the rune on his left hand flared brightly. "**Black Shock Sword!**" He slashed at Gremio; the guardian managed to parry the blade, but the force of the blow lifted him off his feet and knocked him back by several yards. Apshai was a blur as he cleared the distance between himself and Tir, slashing across the man's chest and disrupting the flow of dark energy that was choking the life out of his sister. Tir's amber eyes glittered defiantly as he clamped his right hand over the bloody slash; the wound would have incapacitated most, but the Crystal Elite noted that his opponent seemed mildly fazed by it. He snarled and drew his blade back, "I'm going to cut off your head for daring to harm my sister, infidel!"

There was a flicker of silver, and the deafening ring of steel echoed out as the blade was jerked from Apshai's hand. The weapon flipped back several feet, striking the sand with a dull thud, and as Apshai's eyes lifted he saw a black clad warrior standing before him. "You have lost your sword, warrior; I suggest you concede defeat." Chris, coming out of the effects of the rune, found herself staring at the side of a man standing off to her left. Dressed in immaculate black breeches and cowboy boots, his tall figure towered over her, darker than the night itself. He looked like Yuber, but for the variation of his heterochromatic eyes, one gray and one green, and that the shimmering hair that fell down his back was black and immaculately braided.

"Yuber?" Apshai narrowed his eyes, "No . . . you aren't Yuber . . . you must be . . ." He paled slightly and sprang back, narrowing his eyes. "You live this day! But be warned; when my brothers arrive, no one will keep Chris Lightfellow from us, not even 'He Who Follows Death'!" Grabbing the unconscious Parna and hurling her over his shoulder, the two Elites vanished in a burst of golden radiance.

Returning the broad blade he held to his back holster, the stranger extended a hand to Chris, "Are you unharmed, Lady Chris?"

Unsteadily rising to her feet, Chris put a hand on her sword. "Stay back, whoever you are!" Although she looked unsteady on her feet, she was more than ready to draw her blade and fight him off. "What is your connection to Yuber? You two look so very alike . . ."

"We have some history, I admit." He took back his hand, "I am Pesmerga."

"Good to see you." Tir and Gremio approached them both, "I am pleased you came to join us, old friend." The wound on Tir's chest had stopped bleeding, but it was still horrible. Chris couldn't help wondering how someone could seem so . . . okay, with a wound like that. Neither Gremio nor the newcomer seemed fazed at all.

"Well, if I leave you to face them alone, what glory will there be for me?" The swordsman cracked a half smile, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.


	4. Mirth in otherwise Mirthless Hours

As the sun shone down through the rear opening of the wagon's canopy, Tir found himself staring at the shimmering radiance of Lady Chris' silver hair; it was as fine as spun silk, immaculate, pure. As pure as his soul was tainted, he remarked grimly to himself as he tightened one gloved hand. The whole night they had ridden on, Lady Chris slumbering in the wagon's back, and each time he relaxed he found himself staring at the beautiful Captain of the Zexen Knights. Her lips as soft and pink as rose petals, silver hair as radiant as white fire, skin as pure as driven snow; she was flawlessly perfect. "And far too good for the likes of you, McDohl," Tir mumbled to himself as he turned to look out the wagon's back, eyeing the gray ripple on the horizon behind them, all that remained of Selacey.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Chris said quietly, "Most women would kill to have a handsome courtier as skilled with a weapon as you, young sir." Tir's head snapped around to look at her; still curled up as she had been while sleeping, her silver eyes were wide and locked on him, her mouth upturned into an impish grin. "I just think I'm a little too old for you, squire."

Gremio and Pesmerga both erupted into raucous laughter, prompting Tir's cheeks to turn a dark shade of red. "You knew? The whole bloody time?"

"I'm a light sleeper," Chris chuckled as she moved into a sitting position, "And when you have as many men sneaking into your quarters or fancying themselves a Romeo, as I do, you get a sense for when someone's staring at you for hours."

The blush, much like his allies' laughter, only intensified.

* * *

"What do you MEAN she's gone?" Salome grabbed Thomas by the collar of his shirt, "The bloody Silver Maiden doesn't just DISAPPEAR in the middle of a bloody fight!"

"Please, Lord Salome, I don't know what happened!" Thomas grabbed his attacker's hands as hard as he could, but he was no match for the powerful grip of the seasoned warrior. "I don't know . . . I just . . . she . . . Salome . . . you're choking . . . me!"

Cecile's spear lashed out, knocking Lady Chris' 2nd in command over backwards. The man bellowed in surprise as he hit the floor, releasing his grip on Budehuc's master. She quickly dragged Thomas aside, sheltering him with her shield as he gasped for air. "You bastard, don't you DARE lay a hand on Master Thomas!"

"You brat!" Borus charged Cecile, sword slipping from the holster. As he pulled back his swing, Juan's hand lashed out from the side, striking his wrist and forcing him to release the blade. The second hand grabbed Borus' hand and twisted it, dislocating the shoulder and causing the blonde knight to cry out. Juan's final strike, the palm to the chest, compressed the knight's chest and hurled him to the floor, gasping for air to fill his lungs.

"I didn't know that the Mighty Zexen Knights were so keen on slaughtering children." The lazy martial arts instructor scowled at the assembled knights, "Does anyone else feel like getting his ass handed to him?"

"You stupid hick," Leo took up his heavy axe, "I'm going to enjoy stomping that foolish head of yours into the soil.

"Please," Thomas rose unsteadily to his feet, "We shouldn't be fighting each other like this!"

"Says the idiot who lost sight of Lady Chris," Percival took up his position beside Leo, "We never should have trusted any of you. For all we know, this was a Harmonian plot."

Roland knocked an arrow, his steely eyes targeting the castle's ruler, "The sooner we put this castle under Zexen rule again, the sooner we get to the bottom of this."

"That's enough!" Nash fired his gun into the war room table, splintering it. The fiery explosion knocked both sides onto their backsides, eyes quickly turning to the Howling Voice Guildsman who had just entered with Hugo and Geddoe. "Thomas did his best out there. You pompous knights have no right to chastise him for what has happened."

"This bickering is useless." Geddoe's voice was hard and cold, wilting the anger within the room like flowers caught in a cold snap. "Everyone did what they could, everyone was doing their part. No one person is to blame; the fault for losing Captain Lightfellow falls on each of us, even you Knights."

"Liar!" Borus took a step toward the True Lightning Rune's bearer, "What would a stupid mercenary know?"

In seconds, Geddoe's mercenary crew was on him, disabling him and putting his face into the ground. His nose broke as he hit the wooden floor, blood spreading out into a pool around his handsome face. "I suggest you calm the hell down, pretty boy," Ace stabbed one of his sais into the floor an inch from the knight's eye, "Your attitude is making you really unpopular."

"Let him go." The words had barely been spoken before the team released Borus. Geddoe lifted him to his feet, "If you want to settle this, Borus, I think you have your choice of willing opponents; however, what's important now, is finding out what has happened to Lady Chris. Bullying our hosts will not further this task. Can we agree on that?"

Borus scowled darkly at Geddoe, blood spilling down into his gleaming armor, ". . . fine . . ."

"Good," Geddoe turned toward Hugo, who was staring at the people who he considered friends, so ready to turn on each other in Lady Chris absence. "Hugo, I suggest we send out Watari, Ayame, and Kidd to see what manner of intelligence that they can recover regarding our last battle and Lady Chris."

"Good idea, Geddoe, see to it. I'm going to go talk to the Alma Kinan villagers and ask for their assistance." Hugo turned toward Thomas. "Lord Thomas, will you please speak to Martha, Piccolo, and Jeanne? See if they can divine anything regarding the True Water Rune's whereabouts."

"Of course, Flame Champion." Thomas hustled out of the room, followed by Cecile, who gave Borus a hateful glare as she passed.

"Lady Chris would be horrified to see how we're all behaving in her absence," Hugo shook his head, crestfallen. "All of you, get out and go for patrols, this is childish behavior and I can't stomach any of you right now."

Everyone left, except Geddoe, who laid a hand on Hugo's shoulder, "We can't afford to let this loss choke our momentum."

"I know," Hugo sighed, "We have to keep fighting and keep faith that Lady Chris is smart and strong enough to keep herself safe."

* * *

With day giving away to night, the unlikely caravan had decided to stop for the night. Tir had started a roaring fire, and using the meats of small animals and strange desert plants, Gremio had prepared a pot of bubbling stew. Although leery at first, as the heady scent of cooking meat and rich flavours reached her nose Chris' stomach betrayed her hunger. "Okay . . . maybe I'll have a little . . ."

Smirking, Gremio spooned up a bowl and handed it to the silver maiden; she cautiously tasted it, her apprehension turning into delirious joy as she began to ravenously devour the hot food. "By the runes, Gremio, this stew is amazing." Lady Chris spoke between hurried bites, ladling the meaty dish into her hounding stomach. "I never knew something could taste so good!"

Tir smiled fondly at his companion as he helped himself to seconds, "Yes, Gremio has always been an excellent chef. I seem to recall you made something like this back when we were fleeing Geil Rugner's troups."

"You remember," Gremio smiled warmly, "You were so young I didn't think you would. You were so hungry, and Gods know that Rugner's men didn't know the first thing about caring for a child of four years. You were nearly starved to death by the time I found you, and you needed to eat something."

"You knew him back then?" Chris extended the empty bowl, "Tell me about it. Is that where you got the scar?"

"Ah yes," The blonde warrior chuckled and gently touched the "x" shaped scar on his face. "Back during the War of Succession, I was a soldier under Teo McDohl, Tir's father. Since Aria had died in childbirth, I volunteered to assist Teo with caring for an infant son, being as I had none of my own and he had no idea what the hell he was doing. I had raised my siblings in my youth, so the experience was not a first for me." Gremio had taken on a misty, far off expression as he spoke, "Over time, I took to raising Tir as my own son, as his father was always away on military campaigns."

Tir blushed, "Oh come now, Gremio, she wants a story of action, not a melodrama about the perils of raising a troubled youth."

"Pshaw," Gremio dismissed Tir with a wave, "You were a model child, obedient and brilliant; which is good, else the rescue would not have gone so well I fear." He handed Chris back her bowl, once more full. "At the height of the war, Geil Rugner found himself set to face Teo's Armored Calvary upon the battlefield, and knew he would lose. So he hired the bandits of Mount Tigerwolf, a raucous and surly lot, to kidnap Teo's son."

"To what end?" Chris' brow knit in concern, "Did he think to force McDohl's surrender?"

"Far from it," Tir chuckled, "Rugner had wanted to fight my father since they were cadets in military training; he mere wanted to . . . even the playing field, as it were."

"Who is the relegated narrator, young master?" Gremio mocked offense and struck Tir with a piece of bread, "Leave me to tell my story."

"As you wish, Gremio," Tir rose, "I think I will walk off this fine meal." He strode purposefully away from the ring of fire light, disappearing into the desert shadows.

Shaking his head, Gremio poured himself a cup of wine, "Please allow me to begin anew. This story is best told a certain way."


	5. Oath of the Axe Part One

_It was solar year 447, coming upon the end of the Scarlet Moon Succession Wars; Barbarossa's army was on the march toward Gregminster and, with most of Geil Rugner's forces either defeated or having changed sides to fly their banners under the crowned prince, the war was fast coming to a close. Less than a day out of the capital, Teo had called all of his most loyal in to be a part of the final siege, going so far as to call me away from taking care of his son. Master Teo had saved my life in the thick of battle back at the campaign's beginning, and I had forsworn myself to serve him as payment for the life he gave me. The young master, Tir, had been left with a retainer of Milich Oppenheimer after being spirited out of Gregminster as the conquering forces of Geil Rugner poured into the capital city._

_The war had been a tough campaign; Rugner had skillfully manipulated his opponents through miscommunication and intercepted messages, costing them a number of cities and loyal forces. Assam, Geil Rugner's acting advisor, was a conniving man with no small amount of cunning; time and again, he had manipulated events so that Barbarossa's forces were not where he needed them, costing the prince his beloved wife, the lady Claudia. But sadness had given way to fury and a thirst for vengeance, and that thirst for vengeance had put a fire under the army which was, for lack of a better term, unstoppable. Geil knew he was going to lose, there was no way around it; Teo's armored cavalry was nigh invulnerable, swords and arrows would harmlessly slough off their mail like sleet. But leave it to Rugner's Judiciary, to pull one last foul trick from his voluminous sleeve._

_It was the night before we rode upon the capital, when one of Milich's vanguards rode upon our camp, bloodied and half dead, he literally expired the second Teo took the scroll from his trembling hand. I remember clearly, as his stormy gaze passed over the parchment, an expression filled our leader's face that I had never seen there before. I would not see it again for many years, not until it passed over his face a second time the day his army nearly wiped the Liberation Army out of existence, I recognized it for what it was; fear. . . _

"Lord McDohl," Teo's voice trembled slightly as he spoke the penned words, almost disbelieving them, "We have taken into our possession your son, Tir. For the moment, he is well, but should you disregard the warning within this message know well that we shall set about mailing a piece of the boy to you once a moon phase. And with the skilled healer's in 0ur employ, trust that he will live through many years of this."

_Every man in the command tent was frozen to the ground as General Teo spoke, fear for the young master's health literally crystallizing the blood in our veins. I remember looking over at General Sonya as Teo read on, watching the anguish in her face; she loved Teo more deeply than any other could have, and but for her own self-doubting in being worthy of his affections, might have been Tir's mother. We all knew what her heart felt, and the only agony greater than Teo's, was her's at seeing him suffer._

"Come the morning, you are to ride against the forces of Gregminster. To save your son's life, you will ride into battle without the merit of the heavy armor that makes your cavalry so formidable. You will battle them in grunt's armor, much the same as they will face you, and only the skill with a blade will determine which empire will control Arlus' destiny for another hundred years."

_Teo's armored cavalry was legendary; they were seventy score of the greatest fighters in all of the land, able to fight voraciously with any weapon. Their greatest tool, however, was the special armor that the dwarves had forged for them; Gul-horses, decked in heavy mythril barding, made for impossibly fast and fearful mounts. Without these things the cavalry was still fearsome, but outnumbered a hundred to one by Geil Rugner's army. Without the armor to protect them from the unending onslaught of soldiers, defeat was certain._

"And just in case you would think to hold back your battle to mount a rescue attempt, know that our eyes are upon you. Should your unclad soldiers not ride out at first light, your son will taste bandit steel by the cock's crow. Signed, the bandits of Mount Tigerwolf."

_The tent literally exploded in furious arguing; Kwanda Rossman began commanding Teo not to relinquish the cavalry's armor over a single boy, stating that no one life was worth the dissolution of Barbarossa's winning weapon. Sonja nearly eviscerated him on the spot for suggesting that they allow Master Teo's son to suffer such a horrible demise. Milich fainted dead away on the spot. The six generals were ashambles, with Teo literally paralyzed, staring at the letter. Having lost Aria in child birth, Tir was all that remained of his beloved wife; the boy had literally saved his father from descent into a very dark hole, and here he sat, on the verge of destroying him. Barbarossa met his gaze with empty eyes, unable to suggest any option._

"Shut up." Teo's voice was soft, going unnoticed amidst the din of the arguing generals. The second time, his voice was a roar, and it was accompanied by the spontaneous release of his rage rune as the planning table exploded into flaming splinters. "I said shut up, all of you!" That got their attention. "We are fighting a war! And in war there are sacrifices." He strode from the tent.

_I was outside, tending the horses, and had been privy to the entire exchange. As my lord walked out, the weight of the world on his shoulders, I chose to feign ignorance._

"Good day my lord," Gremio bowed to Teo, "Tomorrow we ride upon Gregminster and put an end to this protracted campaign."

Teo looked blankly upon the green-cloaked soldier, "Ah . . . Gremio, was it?"

"Yes my lord," he bowed again, "I am pleased you recall my name."

"Indeed," Teo forced a smile, "I expect you to fight with all your will come the morrow."

"Indeed I shall, sir."

Teo started to walk away, but paused, waiting several seconds to turn and face the young soldier. "Gremio, walk with me, I would have your ear."

"Of course, my lord."

_Teo and I walked across the camp and out to the nearby prominence hill, overlooking the plains which would be soaked with blood come the morrow. My lord explained everything to me, spared no detail. To see so noble a man so broken, so perched on the verge of despair, broke my heart. As the sun started to set, we found ourselves sitting on the hill's edge, staring at the distant towers of Gregminster._

"If I leave my son to die, Aria will not look at me when I meet her in the hereafter," Teo sighed deeply, "But I cannot justify the deaths of good soldiers and the loss of this campaign for any single life."

"Then perhaps you should go forth in your armor and fight," Gremio did not meet his leader's eyes as he stared across the gap between their encampment, and their long-awaited goal. "Perhaps the rescue would be better left to a small contingent of soldiers, a secretive collaboration of your men to sneak in under nightfall and rescue the young master?"

"The bandits are too well entrenched within the mountain," Teo shook his head, "It would be suicide to send anyone in without the virtue of an army at their back."

Gremio rose slowly, stretching, "If you cannot change the path of your caravan, I suppose, you are left only the option of holding the course, and praying for fair outcomes." The young soldier smiled at his commander, "Prepare the soldiers for tomorrow's engagement, and pray things work out right."

_Not waiting for a reply, I left Master Teo, then and there. I had already decided my course of action. I would shed my army regalia and rescue the young master on my own. I owed Master Teo my life, and if I could do some favor so noble as this for him, t'would be a fortunate series of events._


	6. Oath of the Axe Part Two

_As I took flight toward Mount Tigerwolf, I could naught but question my sanity; I was barely a man myself, not ever having known the touch of a woman, and yet I was speeding toward what would almost certainly be a harsh demise. I wondered if, perhaps, Teo had somehow managed to indirectly manipulate me into making this fool's errand in his stead; but in my heart of hearts, I never doubted the truth. The young master was like a son to me, and his father had given me a life when mine own had all but left me, how could I not do everything in my power to see this righted? I might die, but at least my conscience would be clear; at least I would have died doing what I knew to be right. The gul-horse was swift and steady, its hooves an almost hypnotic thrum against the sandy soil as we made haste to the west toward Tolna Canal, and Mount Tigerwolf._

_Once we crossed the canal bridge, the vast expanse of the Dano region's plains made for swift travel; for as far as I could see, the only objects on the horizon were the great disc of the pale moon, and Mount Tigerwolf, thrusting up at the night sky like a spear tip. The radiance of the huge full moon served to illuminate the empty plains for miles, creating a monochromatic tapestry of small hills and shallow dales. The harsh black and white scenery also made it impossible to spot snipers in blind cloaks, something I would discover after the fact._

_Pressed low against the back of my gul-horse, the wind whipping past my ears, I could not hear the whistling of the arrows; I was blindly oblivious to them, until, one passed through the meat of my left arm and embedded itself in my mount's back. I felt no pain, just a numbness spreading through the fingers of that hand; my horse, however, cried out and began to wildly sprint forward, driven half mad by agony. I felt like I should have done something to free my arm from the animal, but I was too busy holding on for dear life as we careened across the expanse. _

_I could hear the arrows as they passed close, but they appeared to my eyes as small "poffs" of sand and grit as they struck the dusty soil around us. I felt a few of them slam into the beast's meaty haunches, missing me by inches, but it only served to further spur the maddened creature forward into their deadly hail. I hissed curses at the gul-horse as I jerked the reigns, trying to steer him away from the source of the arrows, but he would not obey; finally, it was the chance-placement of an arrow in the beast's eye that killed him. His knees buckled instantly and I found myself floating in space as the beast plunged to the ground in slow motion, pulling me by the arrow in my flesh as I was dragged under its body in mid death roll. I felt the animal's great weight strike my chest as if a giant stepped upon me, preventing me from taking in breath as my ribs compressed painfully. I saw stars explode behind my eyes._

_I think I blacked out for an instant. When my vision cleared I was no longer under the animal, rather, lying several feet away. The arrow had broken off in the roll, tearing itself from my flesh as I was hurled away. I could see the gleam of bone in the wound, but the lack of feeling remained. More pressing, I could hear the cocky rumblings of approaching conversation, their coarse voices boasting over who had released the fatal arrow, and more importantly, debating over whether or not there had been a rider. My mission was still in play, but I would have to act swiftly._

_I clamored over the dead animal and sliced the saddle's belt with my long knife, dragging the tack off the animal as I hurriedly scuttled to a nearby dale, keeping my profile as low as I was able. By the time the bandit snipers reached my gul-horse, I was nearly a league away. I pressed my back into the soil and, by the light of the moon, examined my arm; when the arrow had torn free it had taken some of the meat in my arm with it, no doubt the reason I could not feel anything from the elbow down. The bone was clearly broken, the arrow having placed itself between the larger and smaller of the pair upon entry, snapping them both on its way out. I would have to do something about the considerable blood loss occurring from the wound. I fished a potion from the saddle bag and poured it into the wound, then retrieved the splints and muslin from my field kit, splinting the broken bone and fashioning a sling much as I had seen the field doctors do._

_Stuffing my field rations and potions into my bag, I abandoned the tack and crept from my dugout, keeping myself low as I scuttled away from the bandits, who had busied themselves looking for signs of a discarded block or saddle, any sign of a rider. Only once I was out of their sight did I straighten my stance and make a hasty run toward the mountain, following the line of tracks left by my would-be assassins. It took an hour longer than I would have liked, but eventually, I reached the foot of the mountain. With the moon behind it, I was blissfully immersed in liquid black shadow, rendering me invisible. Drawing my voluminous cloak around me, I began my ascent of the winding mountain path._

_Remembering marching across Mount Seifu in my younger days, stumbling across uneven or unhewn stony paths, I was pleased to discover that the bandit's frequent passage up and down the mountain had created smooth, even trails to follow. I made quick time up the mountain, deviating from the path only as I found myself nearing the mouth of the bandit's lair, which was illuminated by lanterns and patrolled by two guards, one of which had fallen asleep. Creeping around the side, I took out the sleeping one first, snapping his neck and dragging him into the bushes while his ally was relieving himself elsewhere. The other, drawn by the rustling of the foliage, had barely peered into the shadows before I opened his neck with my knife._

_He never even managed a sound._

_Afterword, as I was wiping the blood onto their clothes, I remember feeling a sense of horror; this was not like me, I did not kill so readily. I felt possessed, betrayed by dark forces. And in a way, I was; somewhere within me, I knew that the babysitter would not be able to liberate his charge. The young master needed a warrior to save him, and so I would become._

Drawing his cloak around himself, Gremio stealthily entered the cavern mouth, squinting against the brightly lit interior, so different from the moonlit outside of the mountain path. He made sure to make each footfall as light as possible, rolling from heel to toe in smooth motions, determined to be soundless as he entered; the bandits of Mount Tigerwolf were said to be numerous and savage, like wild animals. Any fighting could bring the whole of the crew down on him at once.

"Yield!" Gremio turned sharply at the sound, spotting an approaching bandit. Unable to flee, he sank back into his cloak, trying his best to hide his face; within the emerald folds, he tightened his right hand around the handle of his axe, ready to strike. "Oi, who're you?" The rogue eyed the soldier suspiciously, "I haven't seen you round here before."

Gremio curled his mouth in a sneer, "So what? I've never seen you before, and I don't care. The only people I care to remember are the ones who owe me money; so, since I don't know who the hell you are, you should consider yourself lucky."

After sizing Gremio up for a few seconds, the thief laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, moving along on his way. "That's rich, pal, way rich."

The young soldier waited until the man was long gone to release the breath he was holding. Although he was confident that he could have taken him, the presence of a body would have set the hideout on alert. He continued on his path, moving deeper into the hideout, until he came upon the innermost sanctum of the bandit's hovel. From the shadows he saw Yarrovich, Geil Rugner's high general, engaged in a heated conversation with the bandit leader, Gaston. "I don't care whether or not you WANT to take care of the brat, it's your JOB."

"S' a nurse maid's job, you mean." Gaston crossed his muscular arms and turned away, "Mah men 'ave too much to worry abou' to devo' tahme to a bebe."

"Then kidnap some dirt farmer's daughter and drag her up here to mind him." Yarrovich grabbed the bandit's shoulder and spun him around, "The fight between McDohl and Rugner is tomorrow; once the Armored Calvary falls, I couldn't care less about a dead man's offspring."

"Eef tha bebe means so little to joo," Gaston swatted the soldier's hand away, "Than stop telling me how to do mah job. Tha bebe is locked up in mah wahne room, he can no' go ahnywhere."

His stomach knotting in anxiety, Gremio stealthily retreated from the shadowed alcove, back tracking toward the common area of the hideout. "Where's he going to keep his wine?" Gremio strained to remain calm; the young boy had gone with minimal care for almost five days now, enough to kill most children. "Stop thinking that way, Gremio," he chided himself, "Tir is a strong boy, you know that. It will take more than these lackadaisical babysitters to do him in. Focus on the wine; it would have to be kept cool, and dark to engender proper aging. What else would they keep in a cool, dark room? Prisoners . . . wine . . . food stores." Inhaling deeply, he followed his nose toward the scent of hot food, the bandit commissary.


	7. Oath of the Axe Part Three

_As I entered the commons area where the bandit's dined, I began to wonder if my luck had finally run its course. The commissary was full of at least fifty bandits, many of whom had obviously been at the trade for a long time, given the assembly of their composite armor and the well-used gleam of their weapons. Their bodies were well hardened from combat and rough living, and the food they consumed was as fine as any rich man's dinner, meaning they were in better shape and much better fed than I. As the hopelessness, the fear of failure, began to settle in I saw the kitchen across the way, and the cellar door beyond. The last man emerging held a bottle of wine in his dirty hands, drinking it as if it were the last water in the desert. That meant that the young master was beyond the heavy wooden door, and fifty bandits would not nearly be enough to forestall my task._

Drawing his hood up around himself, Gremio plunged into the dense crowd of hungry bandits, his eyes locked on the cellar door ahead. He counted the steps as he walked, memorizing the path to freedom, in case his retreat needed to be much faster. Shedding the splint and bandages, he examined the injured arm; where the arrow had struck him had regained much feeling and was now a dull ache. The potion was working its magic, but the broken bone would take longer to heal, meaning he was still at a strong disadvantage should it come down to a fight.

He was almost to the kitchen when a hand grabbed his cloak, pulling him aside. "Hey, here he is!" The bandit from the hallway threw his arm around the soldier's neck, "Glad I caught ya, c'mere!" He dragged Gremio to a table full of bandits, shoving him into a seat. "This is the guy who lipped off at me earlier."

The six bandits at the table watched him with dangerous eyes. His hand had begun to creep to the hilt of his axe, when the group's impromptu leader flopped into the seat across from him. "It takes a lot of guts to mouth off to me, Vargas of the Four Winds, so I gotta give you praise for your bravery." He slid a mug to Gremio, "You're drinking with us tonight!"

As the group erupted into a cheer, Gremio relaxed, taking a swig of wine from the offered mug. "Good, I was wondering if I was going to have to fight my way out of here!" He laughed and took another swig, raising it to the others as they joined his toast.

"Isn't this kid great?" Vargas slapped the table top and laughed, "Whaddya say, Sydonia, should we let him join?"

The black-haired woman beside Gremio eyed his face sternly, "Too fresh-faced, come back when you get some scars."

The group's laughter boomed again. Gremio set his empty mug down and climbed to his feet, "Since we're drinking together tonight, lemme get the next bottle. Gaston keeps all the best in the cellar. I'll go grab a bottle."

"Whoa there," one of the bandits grabbed Gremio's injured arm, "No one goes down there but Gaston's chefs."

"What do I care?" He struggled not to show the pain as he jerked the hand away, "Gaston's in a meeting with that General 'What-is-his-name', not like it'd stop me if he wasn't. He's a little too interested in the male recruits to be any real threat." The rest of the bandits laughed uproariously as Gremio left them, crossing the floor to the kitchen.

As the soldier entered the cooking area, one of the chef's approached him. "Hey, no visitors!" He shoved Gremio with one hand, not realizing just how poor a choice he had made.

Gremio grabbed his hand and twisted it, coiling the chef's arm up behind his own back and making him cry out in pain. He put his mouth a mere inch from the man's ear and hissed "If you ever try to touch me again, you'll be buying your shirts at a discount. Now, I'm going to get a bottle of Gaston's finest, and if he has a problem with it, he can trade in his Sunday dress for some battle armor and come be a man, instead of a mare." He shoved the chef hard, sending him to the floor in a jumbled heap. The other chefs took notice of the exchange, but said nothing, opting for ignorance as Gremio plunged into the wine cellar.

_As the musty, earthen stink of the underground hole swamped my nose, I began to grow apprehensive. This place was nothing like the wine cellars in Gregminster, where the worst thing you might encounter was a cat eating a mouse; this place was a foul, filthy hole in the mountain. Their dried food stores were anything but, besieged by dripping fluid from cracks in the old stone, as well as covered by insects and other nastier things. I recalled a child who lost fingers to a hungry rat when his parents left him with a drunkard nanny. As I crept into the din, all I could do was pray that Teo's son would be found well. Finally, as I rounded the bend at the bottom of the filthy hole, I stumbled upon the still form of a tiny boy._

_It was all I could do to not scream as I dropped to the floor, scooping up the small body and cradling it. I felt a numbness start to creep through me as his death tore at my guts. I had failed him, the boy who I thought of as my own son, the boy whom I loved with more than I ever thought I would have to give to anyone. I was lost, supremely lost. And then, he stirred. The boy moved just a little, opened one eye at me. He took my thumb and squeezed it once, before going limp again. He was alive, and so long as I had power over that, he would live forever._

As Gremio emerged from the wine cellar, the commissary's occupants stood around the kitchen's door, watching him, weapons drawn. At the center, Gaston stood with arms crossed, a sword hung on each hip. "Ah don't know 'ow you 'ave gotten insahd mah fortress, baht you weel not leef alahf." He extended a hand, "Geef me tha boy."

The chef who had accosted Gremio earlier emerged from the side, leaping at the soldier with a snarl. The axe flashed once, and the man howled as he hit the floor, blood pouring from the ragged stump where his arm had been seconds before. The soldier set the boy behind him, closing the cellar door. "I am Gremio LeFell, loyal soldier of . . . no." He tightened his grip on the axe, "I am Gremio LeFell. I swear an oath on this axe, that so long as there is life in this body, whoever would seek to bring ill on Tir McDohl will find only death at my hands."

Gaston drew his swords, sweat forming on his brow. Something about the fire in the blonde warrior's eyes scared him. "Beh smahrt, you fool, you cannot possibly win."

One of the bandits rushed at Gremio, his sword raised as he screamed a battle cry. The soldier's axe left a shining arc as it descended, shattering the blade as it separated the man's head from his shoulders. The corpse hit the ground with a thud, spraying blood across Gremio's chest and face. The blonde man didn't flinch as he smiled, "You are wrong, Gaston, I cannot possibly lose."

_As the first rays of the sun touched Barbarossa's encampment, armored soldiers were shuffling around the camp, preparing for battle. Teo McDohl, his eyes circled with sleepless bruises, stood at the tent's entry as he watched Geil Rugner's troops amass at the other end of the battlefield. His generals moved around him, preparing whatever means they could devise to make the battle swift. None of them had slept either._

_As I emerged over the hillock astride a gul-horse that was clearly not of Barbarossa's army, they all stared at me as if I were a ghost. Indeed, looking back, I am sure I must have resembled some corpse propelled by a life not its own. My face was stained with red, much of it from an x-shaped wound upon my cheek. My golden hair was matted with gore, as were my clothes. The fabric of my traveler's cloak and tunic was tattered and torn from various weapon strikes and wounds. My breeches were dark with blood that was, thankfully, mostly not my own. The axe, still red with blood, was locked in my right hand, while my wounded left arm cradled the sleeping form of the young master against my chest. I had done what I had set out to do. The boy was safe._

_Teo bolted for me, his armored boots thudding heavily against the ground as he ran to meet me._

"Tir!" Teo reached the soldier first, taking in the sight of his ragged form; Gremio swayed slightly on his feet, his eyes slightly glossy and out of focus. The collection of wounds were unbound, the blood flow staunched only by great patches of clot. As the armored commander approached, Gremio's eyes came into focus, his grip on the weapon reflexively tightening. "My son, is he?"

"Alive, sir." Gremio's voice was a gravelly whisper, strangled with exhaustion. "He has not been fed for some time. I will prepare some food for him immediately."

The other generals reached them at last. Sonja stifled a sob with her hand, tears of relief running down her face. The other generals regarded Gremio with a sort of standoffish skepticism. "The bandits?" Barbarossa finally asked.

"Dead, sir. All of them." The statement was delivered in a hoarse, deadpan tone.

Kwanda scoffed, "Impossible, no boy could have killed so many men."

Gremio rasped the blade of his axe across his belt, cutting a knot of hair and allowing Gaston's severed head to fall to the ground. His wide eyes were frozen in terror, his mouth twisted in mid-plea. "Once Gaston fell, their wills were broken." Gremio's hand on the axe relaxed slightly, "The confines of the cave were small enough to strangle their escape, like a crowded hog's pen. They were remarkably easy to kill." Kwanda paled slightly as Gremio's dead eyes passed over him.

"Well done," Kassim approached the soldier, "Now get into armor, there's a war to be won. Give me the boy."

Those four words sparked something within the soldier: His grip tightened on the axe. His feet slid into a warrior's stance. He turned his torso so that Tir was shielded by his body, protecting the boy as he lifted his weapon. His eyes, hollow and lifeless seconds before, came alive with a fiercely animal gleam. Within seconds, the half-dead soldier became a feral wolf, ready to die to protect its young. "No."

Kassim stepped back, intimidated. The generals were struck mute by what they saw. In that instant, no one doubted that the lone soldier had killed so many only hours before. Not one of them, not even Barbarossa himself, would have challenged him for the boy.

"Gremio," Teo spoke softly, "I want you to do something for me." He moved to face the taut soldier, "I want you to take Tir home. I charge you, guardian of my son, and entrust you with the task of safeguarding him from anyone that might seek to do him harm. Your one, true loyalty, is to him alone. Do you swear this, to me, and to him?"

"I am Gremio LeFell. I swear an oath on this axe, that so long as there is life in this body, whoever would seek to bring ill on Tir McDohl will find only death at my hands."


End file.
